I will channel stardust
of incandescent colors that sparkle
angel mist upon our English garden.
I wait for you there
an exotic flower enfolded among Roses,
Blue Bells, and Columbines.
The wind sings it’s hymn for departed
flowers plucked up by winters foraging birds.
In our Renaissance garden we will
Your stained glass wings, the sweeping
breadth of Monarchs, flutter fervently among the
The weeping falls of willows bow down.